1/29/15 23:53:some irrelevant data point

A million sandbags tacked to my eyelids

An invisible needle weaving through my neck
A strip of ice caressing the space between
the cuff of my sweatpants and my socks

A million thoughts running through my mind
An invisible force guiding my hands to qwerty
A strip of blank space, waiting for an argument
as to why they should reconsider everything

A million examples of thoughtfulness, greatness
An invisible unconscious bias or was it just luck
A strip of qualitative and quantitative data my brain
is no longer analyzing properly but there's an outline 

What can I say, I'm a sucker for an underdog.
And I was one helluva fighter in my prime. 

Dorian's Spade

Ironically enough, I'm not this kind of person.

The kind who gets swept up in windy cities
and tunes out street noise and cat calls
for an intimate conversation in a public place. 
I have a deep, bellowing bark, but my paws are small
and my courage only carries me so far. 

I've learned to be direct, to be honest, to be...
More fearless and to withhold expectations. 
If life has taught me anything it's that
you never know what to expect,
a beautiful and terrifying thing indeed.

And yet here I am, on my way to catch up with
An old friend. Or a new friend. Or a someone.
There's a degree of familiarity that I find
frightening, exciting, comforting, (insert adjective here).
Come back later and maybe I'll have made sense of it all.
I'm not making promises so don't hold your breath.

Until then, until I reach that moment of clarity, 
all I can say is that no matter what happens
I wouldn't trade the laughs, questions, ideas for anything. 
I'm glad you bit the bullet and called a spade a spade,
apologies to Lord Henry Wooten, but it is true that
there's no escaping a label when names are everything.
I only hope that I was able to provide you with similar comfort. 

Now, let's have some fun shall we? There's so much to explore!
I'm a happy camper as long as there's no gluten involved. 
Oh, and I'll probably look like the kid from Home Alone.

I'm Here

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" is pretty much a load of bullshit. (Give me a break, I usually keep things G rated. Just call me "Disney hipster princess" why don't you... I do prefer Thor though.) 

I don't know the history of this particular nugget people love to share... I don't know the how or the why of it, but what I do know is that it is false. Entirely untrue. It is also probably one of the worst pieces of "advice" offered when someone is going through a particular trying time in their life, whether it's recovering from a relationship ending overnight with an arrest or the realization that the other person simply no longer cares enough to make it work. 

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger... if you're referring to the workout I did this morning. I thought, honestly, that I was going to die about halfway in (make that a quarter of the way in), and I'm sure certain muscles of mine will be a little bit better prepared for the next round. Ladies and gentlemen, tickets for the gun show will be available never.

To many people, I'm a smile, a laugh, a joke, a cheerleader, cute, playful, charming, welcoming, and a whole host of other things that range from patronizing to complimentary to true. I will admit I use this image of myself as both a way of viewing the world and as an armor for protection. 

What most people don't know and what I don't share is that I've gone through quite a lot of rather horrible events thus far. To be honest, I think there is only one person who is aware of the extent of it all and she's named after a warthog in a Disney movie because we had strange adults in our past lives. Yes, I realize that it's hypocritical to share this with you, the stranger reading my blog, and you, the familiar face I hope is reading this as well. 

Time and time again, people told me that every obstacle would make me better prepared for the next one. Every life ended, every trust betrayed, every bit of abuse, every failure, and every disappointment is supposed to somehow make me bionic. 

Well, I'm calling bullshit. What doesn't kill you doesn't make you stronger... it just makes you "you." It alters your sense of self. It changes your life path. It becomes a part of your history, your present, and your future. 

What doesn't kill you... can make you stronger, but it can also make you smarter, it can also ground you. And, it can also bring you to your knees. I don't know if you've ever had a sink or swim moment, I really hope that you haven't. I had mine this past May, in a spring full of white hot pain. What didn't kill me brought me to my knees, literally at one point when merely dragging my body up from the cold, hard sidewalk of Kelton Ave felt like a feat I would never be able to accomplish. I reached my moment and for a while thought about what it would be like to just... sink. To descend to the bottom where the numbness whispered promises to take my pain away. 

But, in the moments of the final decision I saw a hand reach out. In fact I saw several, and I made a decision that if I was going to stand again I was going to dance. I was going to twirl, to pirouette, to close my eyes, and to lose myself in the music of life. I was going to appreciate the notes and the rhythms and the beats for what they were, no more no less. Because life is literally too short and too fucking fragile. (Whoops, I did it again.) I wholeheartedly believe that everything has led me to this moment with you and my "self." 

It's the reason why I now try to take risks (even though I'm writing this here because I lack the courage to say it aloud and even though I am too afraid to ask for more while my intestines feel like they've temporarily decided to dance the conga), it's the reason why I make it a point to explicitly tell people why I love them and how appreciative I am to have them in my life. It's the reason why I smile when it rains, and it's also the reason why I allow myself to feel sorrow and anger and hurt and disappointment. It's all a part of the game, baby, and I'm not here to win. I'm here to play. 

And I'm here to reach out my hand, to pull you up with me when you're ready to dance, whether you're on your knees or just simply taking a moment to kneel and breathe. I've been learning how to salsa, and it's not nearly as fun when you don't have a partner. (I'm also decent at the cabbage patch and can shopping cart like nobody's business.)

Who.

A coworker I greatly admire and thoroughly enjoy working with (mainly because he introduced me to the phrase "amazeballs") asked me, "So what do you want to do?" In a moment of spontaneity, I gushed to him about my dream of one day becoming a sociology professor. The idea of conducting research about the world around me and fostering spaces in which developing minds can participate in fruitful conversations excites me. As a people driven, relentlessly curious, general athlete who is an extroverted introvert, I have known for a while this could be one of many career paths that would be incredibly fulfilling. 

But like I said, this is just one of many career paths I see ahead of me... After a ten minute flurry of words and the realization that maybe I should have somehow translated my dream job into my current company's landscape (because you know, we have a Learning and Development division... which he works in...), I walked away feeling uneasy. I'm at a fork in the road... scratch that, it looks more like an octopus with tentacles loosely waving in front of me, beckoning and calling me to choose an arm in the deep sea. (I really like ocean, deep sea, and water metaphors, similes, and analogies. Let it wash over you.)

There are many opportunities and roles that interest me. There's a reason why my last career path decision had me agonizing over the fields of public policy, technology, and advertising/public relations. For me, the "what do you want to do" question is stressful and, let's be honest, ridiculous; I'd much rather be asked "who do you want to be."

Five, ten, fifteen, even twenty years from now, I might be in a position that looks drastically different from what I'm doing and where I'm working now. I'm entirely ok with that. Remember how I mentioned that I was relentlessly curious? Well, in a nut shell it means that I'm reading about the history of different mathematical concepts, while learning HTML, while chatting with... a genius? a friend? a matching puzzle piece? (not sure which symbol really captures it... let's just call them a platypus) about the effects of gentrification, while dancing in my underwear to music in French, while flexing my event planning skills, while reflecting on upward management within a nonprofit environment. I'm people driven and care more about leveraging my unique set of skills and resources to help others, whether they're a teammate, a friend, a family member, or that stranger I have yet to meet. 

So, who do I want to be? I want to be someone who is mindful of the amount of space they take up in this world. I want to create ripples of love, joy, and happiness throughout the universe. I want to never lose sight of the beauty that is life, to continue to feel mudita, to never forget how important it is to tell others that you appreciate them. I want to love, to be loveable, and to be loved. I want to be that beam of support that holds up the family house, while being brave enough to ask for reinforcement when I need someone, something to lean on. I want to have the strength and resilience of my immigrant father, the kindness of my grandfather, and the too school for cool vibe of my best friend. I want to take risks, to be courageous, to runs towards the roar. I want to be sunshine and a drifting light that makes the darkness a little bit easier to navigate. 

So now it's my turn to ask you. Who do you want to be?

Plastic Coated Emotions

You're afraid of me?

Or you don't know what to say?
Either way, call me. 

I'm not so fragile, 
Not so easily broken,
pain isn't that strange. 

I can be direct,
despite being terrified,
but it's your move now. 

Push Comes to Shove

I move through this world as a lion, 

Quietly stalking, and releasing roars
To protect my pride, my family. 
Mane constantly tousled by
The rough hands of Mother Nature.
I can play dress up for you, 
but know that the most interesting,
Most worthwhile parts of myself 
Come out when I shed my skin. 

But shhh... when push comes to shove,
I'm really not always that brave. 
I'm Fluffy, like the porcupine and
it just takes time before you really get to know me. 

Sam Oliver

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allan Poe

I am not quite sure how this is supposed to go, and when I was first asked to write this an intense wave of panic swept through me... While I have known loss, tragic loss, throughout my life, I do not know if anyone is ever prepared to write a dedication. I do not know if anyone is ever prepared for this moment, the moment when you are forced to acknowledge that seemingly overnight the world became a different and unfamiliar place. In fact, I even tried Googling "how to write a dedication" in an attempt to find a how to guide that could lend me some sort, any sort of structure. I have no idea what I am supposed to say to offer comfort or how I am supposed to say it because I do not know what I am supposed to tell myself. 

There are many people who pass through this life without leaving a mark; by far, Sam was not one of them. I do not remember the first time I met Sam, but I do remember the energy he brought into a room. I remember his smile, his bear hugs, and that confused, or perhaps befuddled, look he would get when he could not understand why my largely female staff was being ridiculous. I remember his willingness to throw himself into new opportunities, his willingness to take on new challenges. I remember learning how well he could do the robot during dance battles at staff retreats and late night conversations about relationships. I remember a Halloween where we all fell in love with the joy he brought to the party. I remember the days where his smile alone was able to lift the weight off of my shoulders. I remember feeling great pride in his accomplishments on behalf of the Community Service Commission (CSC) and feeling comfortable with him representing 2,000+ students to administrators and entities across campus. I remember feeling great sorrow when I realized that I had failed him as a leader and as a friend, that I had failed to protect him from the painful words of fellow members of our CSC family. And I remember letting him go on the roof of Kerckhoff Hall, knowing in my heart that no matter where the wind took him next he would be off on some new, exciting adventure as I had known from the beginning that there was something truly special about him. Having Sam Oliver, the man with two first names, on my staff was a privilege. He left a mark on my mind and on my heart, and he pushed so many of us to be better than we were. 

There has been an outpouring of love and grief from many communities following his passing, a testament to the impact he had on so many people. He was... he was adored. There is no other way to put it. He was adored. I adored him, my staff adored him, his roommates adored him, his friends adored him, his family adored him, UCLA adored him. I can only hope that in his heart, then and now in his eternal sleep, he is cognizant of the sparkle he brought to all of our lives. I hope he understands that his magic was tangible, palpable, and electrifying. 

Rest in peace, Sam Oliver. You are already truly missed. 

Sending you my love,
Thor

Call and Response

The bass enters my bones, fortifying my support structures

It permeates all of my thoughts, all of my worries.

And I'm pulled into its carefully constructed world,

Where I read my fill of the notes and draw strength. 

I strip down to the barest version of myself

and dance in my underwear, come join me?

The treble nestles itself neatly under my skin. 

It's a dose of sunshine and warmth and comfort, 

and happens to be exactly what the doctor prescribed. 

It's the laughter after a terrible dad joke, a million watt smile.

Pushing and pulling, stretching and reaching, I crack my shell

and dance on my tiptoes, come join me?

The poetry of it all isn't found in the lyrics, it's found

in the voices singing along to the tune, off beat, awkward.

Quirks that remind you of the normality of being atypical,

a strangely comforting and unsettling contradiction. 

I've been dancing by myself for most of my life, 

but am now extending an invite. Come join me.